Editors note:
Okay, I’m a few weeks late with this post, so what? I’m a writer of foolish stories not a calendarist. Yeah, that’s a real word, go look it up. I wrote this back in 2018 and I usually republish it every Christmastime. That’s because I’m too lazy to write something new.
I’m asking for some renewed gumption for Christmas but I doubt I’ll get it. I never got that pony I wanted back in 1955 either. For those of you who have read a version of this story already just consider it the literary coal in your virtual stocking.
By Grant Davies
On December 6th eve, every year, Krampus Claus is coming to a town near yours. So you better watch out.
Or as the song has it:
"You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
I'm telling you why
Krampus Claus is coming to town."
Okay, there is no guy called that. I gave Krampus a last name because I wanted to. I write this nonsense, so I can do as I please.
Anyway, Krampus is a real make believe guy. As real as Santa Claus anyway. And he even has a day (okay, a night) named for him. It's called Krampusnacht. For those of you who failed German class in high school, that translates to Krampus Night.
That's the night this half-goat, half-demon sneaks into town and beats children to a pulp if he determines they have been bad. Or not good, I guess. Or if they cry or pout. He also seems to lick their head and clean the wax from their ears with his fingers, according to the picture below. And he does this while in chains, so he's pretty competent.
I'll take the beating, thank you. But that's just me.
What all this tells us is that if the worst thing that happens to you is that you find coal in your stocking or don't get that new I-Phone you have been wanting, just count yourself lucky.
One other thing, I'm pretty sure that if you don't live in Europe somewhere, this doesn't apply to you.
PS.
Now that I have taken the cheap way out instead of doing some actual writing, I’m going to go pour myself and my proofreader a way too large glass of eggnog spiked with way too much booze and get this Christmas season officially underway. It’s not Yuletide before the eggnog.
PSS.
I gave the proofreader half the afternoon off. The same amount Scrooge gave Bob Cratchit. So if there is any typos or other mistakes, I’m going to blame her. After I spike her eggnog she will never know the difference.
Happy holy days.
(And I mean that. Thanks for reading. It’s been a real gift to me)